“Happy day,” said the man. “I hope you spend it as you desire.”
“Once I leave you, I’m sure I will.”
He smiled at her jab, and for a moment a street urchin and a gentleman walked side by side with shared expressions.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his gaze going to what she cradled to her chest. “Your hand?”
Larkyra’s cheeks warmed as she realized she had been holding the dirty bandages for some time. Which made her remember she was rather dirty all over and no doubt smelled, given the manure on her shoes.
She hid her injury at her side. “Not nearly as bad as it did.”
“What happened?”
“I decided I no longer liked a few fingers, so I bit them off.”
“You do not have to lie,” said the man.
“How do you know I lie?” countered Larkyra.
“Because lies and I are well acquainted.”
She met his gaze, saw a flicker of frustration pass. Not toward her, however, but to whatever he referred.
“Here we are,” said Larkyra, pushing past the subject. “Can you get to your destination from here?”
The man looked to their surroundings. They stood in the middle ring’s market. The sound of vendors yelling prices to passing buyers twirled with the salty scent of street food being grilled over open flames.
“Yes,” said the man. “I can find my way.”
“Good.” Larkyra nodded.
“Thank you again,” said the man as he extended a gloved hand. “It seems I owe you a great deal for today.”
Larkyra stared at the offered palm, at how clean the leather was compared to her own dirt-stained skin. Even though she’d saved his life, he was being very kind to a creature such as her. A street vermin. A nobody compared to the likes of him.
Tentatively, she placed her good hand in his. It was warm and firm as he gave it a shake.
“My name is Darius, by the way,” he said. “Darius Mekenna of Lachlan.”
“It was interesting to meet you, Darius Mekenna of Lachlan,” said Larkyra before she turned.
“Wait!” he called.
She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“I could repay you a portion of what I owe now,” offered Darius. “Are you hungry?”
A part of Larkyra wished very much to say yes, because in truth she was. Plus, she was growing quite curious to find out more about this man whose smile brought forth a lightness in her chest. But alas . . . “Afraid not,” she said. “You’ll have to repay me another time.”
Darius frowned. “But what if we don’t meet again?”
To this Larkyra grinned. “The lost gods work in wondrous ways,” she began. “Who knows? We just might.”
Larkyra walked on then, darting into the mass before her, making sure to not glance back.
Soon she found herself in the wealthiest part of the city, the center ring, where her appearance stood out like a festering cut on ebony skin. While all of Jabari had its pockets of beauty, here at the highest point, the buildings literally sparkled with gold, ivory, and silver.
This was where Larkyra found herself admiring the city of her birth. As tall as it was wide and as deep as it was narrow, Jabari’s epicenter gathered upward from the coastal edge over a mountain’s crest, the finely stretched architecture searching for the lost gods in the clouds. Larkyra’s heart warmed as she stopped to take in the sea of buildings stretching out below.
Though the lost gods had abandoned Aadilor many generations ago, the trail of their magic still lingered in pockets, in faraway isles and jungle-covered cities. Jabari was deemed to be a place without their magical gifts, yet it held no less splendor. And there were still the bedtime stories: Parents gently whispering to their wide-eyed children that a blessed few could still be found among them. Usually hiding in plain sight. Like me, thought Larkyra.
Approaching a grand estate that dominated the end of the street, Larkyra paused at the gate. Its large, spiraling columns ran the height of several floors and took up an entire three blocks. Beautiful framed windows jutted forward, and though it was unseen from the street, Larkyra knew an immense, domed glass hall cut through the middle. Exotic purple, red, and blue flowers lined a stone path leading to the front door.
Larkyra took a deep breath in, savoring the rich fragrance. She knew the servants’ entrance was to the side, a small path that could be taken unseen, and with a quick whistle from her lips, the locked gate clicked open. Stepping through, Larkyra did not turn left, to the back of the building, but instead crossed through an invisible veil of magic, a thickness in the air that caressed her skin and, finding her familiar, allowed her through. She strode straight up the front walk and stopped before an intricately carved gold door.
As Larkyra pulled the rope, ringing for entry, she studied the story expertly fashioned on the surface, the tale of three girls and their magical gifts.
The figures were in half relief, as if trapped between two worlds, each with one foot stretched out toward the sun while the other disappeared behind a flat surface to an unseen beyond. Higher, Larkyra’s gaze rested on an older woman in flowing robes. The elegant lady sat smiling beside a large bearded man, his attention solely on her as she gazed down at their children. Larkyra’s throat tightened as she stared into the woman’s empty eyes, the smile that looked so much like hers, before turning away as the heavy entrance opened.
A skinny, parrot-faced man dressed in a butler’s uniform peered down at Larkyra. He did not blink at her appearance, recoil, or show any signs of shock at finding a wounded Jabari urchin on his doorstep.
He merely bowed his head in greeting and stepped aside. “Lady Bassette, welcome home.”
CHAPTER TWO
Larkyra’s lungs were being crushed. But she supposed corsets were not designed for comfort while running. Still, after wearing practically a smock for the better part of a month, Larkyra felt rather confined in her finely sewn clothes.
Not that she couldn’t adapt. If there was one thing a Bassette excelled at, it was adapting.
Another scream rang through the south wing, much closer this time, and Larkyra picked up her skirts. Wincing through the throb in her injured finger, she did not look behind her as she ran faster.
Panting, she swung the massive doors to the weapons room closed and slumped against them, ears prickling for the stomping of approaching feet.
“She’ll check here eventually,” said Arabessa from where she stood at the far target range. She let loose two throwing knives, a blur of movement before they stuck in the center bull’s-eye.
Larkyra’s magic swam anxiously in her throat for a moment before she swallowed it down. “Yes,” she said, her blue skirts rustling as she approached her sister. “But by then I’m hoping the walk will cool her off.”
“If anything, having to travel for her revenge will only incite her further.”
“Sticks.” Larkyra darted her gaze to the closed door. “I didn’t think about that.”
“You never do, dear,” said Arabessa, taking the new daggers that Charlotte, their shared lady’s maid, held for her.
Their weapons room was large with high ceilings, and the musk of wood and tang of metal filled Larkyra’s lungs with many memories of working long nights in this space. The ache of muscles and dripping of sweat.